Threadbare, Still-Flying
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: Every angel has their own set of wings.


**DISCLAIMER: The Twilight Saga is legally possessed by Stephenie Meyer, and it's a good thing, too. If I owned this saga, all the horny fangirls would tear me limb from limb for being so brave. Oh well. This will do.**

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The first thing Bella thinks about while dressing for her date is Edward's wings. They are golden and proudly unfurled, each feather shimmering when your fingers coddle them. He is not shy about it, but there is a convivial glitter in his eyes when Bella muses at them. His sparkling skin is admittedly laughable, but she tries to extinguish any possibility of laughing. Whenever she does, his hands snake to her back. Before she can glare at him, he remarks coolly, "I'm looking for_ your_ wings, too."

Bella snickers at the thought. If she has wings, it explains why the dress billows around her too much. It is one of her mother's dresses, apparently post-pregnancy judging by the size. However, it is comfy, and large enough to cover the scars. Bella slips into a pair of white pumps with plastic lilies tacked onto the heels. She is brushing her hair in front of a body-length mirror, downcast clouds evident in her eyes. Her heels pinch; there is a dark color blotted on her lips from a terrible lipstick experiment.

"This is gonna be a while," Bella tosses the hairbrush onto her dresser. She pads towards her bed and reclines, nervously knotting her hands together. It feels as though her heart has dropped into her stomach. She has dreams about being with Edward, dreams about bright hovels to replace glorified castles, and any kind of dream about sleeping beside him eternally. She clenches her eyes shut, wondering if that can actually work…

_"Bella!"_ Renée calls._ "Breakfast time!"_

Bella's eyes flutter open, but the voice is nonexistent. There is no adumbral transition, but instead a ceiling fan and lazy sunlight.

She glances around her room. There are many things in the room that are different. The colors appear subaquatic; the yellow curtains were ripped off of the window last night before Charlie comforted her with good news, and the computer idles with slanderous truths, some unoriginal—_looking like a dirty little whore_—and some contemporary—_hope it rots out so you never have to hop on his cock ever again!_ Bella smirks at the memory of those messages. It amazes her how Lauren and Jessica have the grammatical skills of Kindergarteners.

The only thing that remains untouched is the array of fragile angels that her mother gave her, some porcelain and others earthenware. All of them are embellished with thread and chiffon, with painted façades that seemed indestructible. Their hands are tucked in and the dresses are overlong, but they glitter immaculately when shone upon. Sometimes, before the crying jag starts, Bella likes to sing some carols to them, imagining that they're serenading her. However, that proves not to be helpful when she acknowledges the unchristian tone of their voices.

Hauling herself off of the bed, Bella decides to resume brushing. She strides across the room in four steps and snatches the brush. She thumbs at the gilt handle, observing the faint glints. She drags the bristles down, but catches a few painful clumps of hair.

"Damnit." Bella huffs, blinking at her reflection. Her free hand clutches the back of her head, feeling how well-entrenched the knots are compared to a few minor tangles.

_You look cute when you're frustrated._

Edward's voice brews in her head. She rolls her eyes at how inexpensive it sounds, not to mention how cheesy it is. It annoys her in the amalgam of cutesy names and, in his lexicon, _pasión cursi para dos_. However, there is a prickling warmth in the back of her throat she cannot deny—

"Ow!" She plucks out another knot. She flings the brush across the room. Mumbling exasperated discrepancies, she searches through her dressers and finds a pair of scissors. Veering back to the mirror, she runs a hand through her hair one more time. _You look cute when you're frustrated._ "How cute is _this_, then?"

The blades slice through the looped coils, scattering them across her shoulders. Bella shakes her head, letting the phrase reiterate in her mind, the tone reaching peaks and valleys. Her eyes remain closed, letting his face flare in her subconscious. When she slides across the skin of her neck, she halts. Her once-smooth curtain of hair is now craggy and snarled; the unwound tendrils are collected on her shoulders and even puddle around her feet.

Bella makes a panicked sound and swipes at her shoulders. She fluffs her hair, bumping up and down on her feet to shake off any spare curls. The pad of her finger caresses a small cut by the hairline. She blots it gingerly, hissing some swearwords at her reflection. Once it's done, she places the scissors on the dresser and goes to sit in her rocking chair by the window.

She tries to remember the last time she saw Renée. Renée Dwyer, or Renée Swan—no, neither surname feels domestic. Just yesterday, the Sun glared down at everyone, and now she's in Forks, a town built off of sepulchral prevalence. However, Edward interjects the commonplace glumness. He is incandescent, smug at times, but fueled by his own devotion. She remembers several guys like that; she remembers seeing them soar with a voluminous set of wings. However, they grew repetitive after a while. Edward's wings are lenitive, indulging her with serene misconduct. She wonders if she's ever had her own wings. People have referred to her as "angel-face" before, but she never seems to see it…

_"Bella, you're going to see Edward again tomorrow, I promise,"_ Charlie says altruistically, the genuine tone able to keep Bella awake.

She wanders towards the shelves, looking at the collection for a moment. There are other knickknacks on the shelves—forgotten school literature, the angels, her Sony camera, makeup—"There it is." Bella reaches for a bottle of lip-gloss. "Saccharine Salmon…that sounds legit."

Bella uncaps the top and twiddles with it. Apparitions of three boys flounce through her mind. One of them, Mike, reaches out, aspiring to stroke her face. _You look better without the makeup._ The disreputable grin, the jeers from Tyler and Eric. Bella looks away, acknowledging their naked humor. Naked bodies, Bella sees them in her mind, and the ecstatic flailing around. They finally stagger out of her conscience, but the thought remains when she looks at the camera stacked atop her old school's English III reading assignments. _You can always see it…_

Dropping the gloss, she rushes to the plastic can next to her computer desk, letting her stomach pour out. The reeling thoughts make her retch, as well as the fact that Edward has no knowledge of the past. However, many angry girlfriends do. _Look at her, oh it's that whore again—whore, whore, nothing but—could her parents have actually?—who else couldn't have?—she's crying now, she's a crying a whore, and she'd do it again—_

Bella pulls back, feeling her stomach settle at last. The comments still twirl around her head, and her only thought is what would Edward say? Would Edward still want her? She clutches her legs, gasping as the acrid guilt mingles with the leftover bile in her throat.

"I'd do it all again, wouldn't I?" Bella asks weakly. "I would, wouldn't I? I'd be back at Square One."

Staggering up, she straightens her back and ambles around. Her eyes glaze around the room, which feels much smaller and darker now. The angels pivot from her gaze, denying her to see any glimmering faces instead of vile, upturned smirks. She reaches a hand out arbitrarily, and feels it smooth over a camera. She picks it up and turns it on, expecting to see the scurrilous nightmare come to life.

However, it is instead a video of eight-year-old Bella with her mother, Renée. Renée presents Bella with an angel dressed in a red gown and statuesque pigtails. Renée has tears in her eyes and glances out the window whenever they leak.

"This is something I always want you to keep, Bella," Renée whispers matronly. "I'm not always going to be there for you; but I'll always love you no matter what."

"Even if a spaceship picked me up and turned me into a fat alien?"

Renée chuckles, holding the little girl and looking at the camera. "Even then. I'm always here."

"No, you're _not!_" Bella stalks towards the window, opening it hastily and tossing the camera out. As she closes it, she hears the satisfying _crash_ outside and presses her lips against the glass. Her eyes itch with the need to surrender, but she ignores it.

A knock on the door. "Bella? Are you all right in there?"

Bella turns around and stumbles slightly when she reaches the door. Opening it, she sees Charlie trembling at the sight of Bella's slovenly hair and contorting smile. "Just give me a moment to get ready, Dad. Tell Edward I'll be downstairs in a moment."

Charlie nods qualmishly as Bella slams the door. Bella makes her way around the room, mumbling unintelligibly as she searches for the scissors again. She swipes them and turns back at the mirror. She giggles. "He won't notice." She snaps the scissors together once, twice_—_three times after hearing the faint sound._ Snick-snick-snick._ She drags it over the straps of her dress, the white fabric now appearing translucent. _Snick._ A strap folds over her bosom, several beads bouncing onto the floor. She looks so pale, so familiar, and this isn't being cute while frustrated. _Snick._ A red line drags across her shoulder, mingling with the milky-colored skin. Bella ogles at it in the reflection fearfully, eyes twirling in its large capacity. A choked scream rips through her mouth, and the scissors connect with the mirror, shattering it instantly.

Several hushed voices downstairs: _I don't think we did the right thing, I just—said it yourself!—my girl…that's my—let me handle her._

Bella rushes to the window again, snatching the scissors posthaste and fondling them in her hands. Tottering on her feet, she tries to think. She tries to remember Edward's wings, his gallant teasing. No more videotaping; no more Renée and nameless suitors. Just Edward, simple as that.

The door clicks open. Bella hears Jacob laugh uneasily. "Hey."

"Hi, Jacob," she says, unintentionally irritable.

"So, are you ready to see Edward?"

"As always."

"So can I see you?"

Bella bats her eyes, trying not to laugh at his request. She inches her head around, but retreats. Jacob scoffs, resting on her bed. He notices the clutters of hair around the floor, as well as broken glass and the growing pink blotch that spills from her discarded lip-gloss bottle.

"I see there was a bit of a scuffle in here?"

"Yeah," Bella chuckles bitterly, "with my hair."

There is an inelegant silence. Bella is still toying with the dulled blades, mocking the _snick_ sounds by clucking her tongue. Jacob looks at some of the dolls on the shelf, and gets up. "So…how is Edward?"

"Great. These have been the best months of my life." Bella says listlessly.

"That's good."

"So, is he downstairs?"

"Bella," Jacob says, defeated, "he's not coming with you."

Bella hears the camera crash in her head and feels disproportionate. Jacob is ready to catch her, but she stubbornly refuses his help. "What do you mean he's not? Charlie told me that he was waiting downstairs."

"I'm sorry, Bella, but he lied to you. The truth is—"

"Edward's at his house, then!" Bella's grip on the scissors tighten. "I figure Rosalie is bitching about his hair being a little messy, but she said it herself, nothing's perfect. She contradicts herself a lot, doesn't she? Always talking, always shouting, but never—"

"Edward's _not_ real." Jacob seethes, taking a step back. "Bella, he was never real."

"Yes, he is." Bella replies with languid shock, feeling the burn in her cheeks growing. "I saw him the first day of—"

"He's not at school, Bella. He's not at home, and he's not in the forest. Please, just listen to me. He _isn't _real. There _isn't _an Edward Cullen!"

Bella is scandalized, forgetting whatever mental chore she has. She feels something being plucked from her back, as well as a graceless tide that crashes against her chest. Her hands ball around the handles, no longer focused. Bella snaps, "How do you know that? You're never around."

Jacob pauses, sighing angrily before clinching his lips with his teeth. Then he reacts: "I'm around you a lot more than you think. I can tell if something's free."

"Renée's the one that isn't real, if you want me to be honest." In Bella's head, she is checking off the many scars on her legs and arms.

"She's real, but she's the one that's never around. She left you when you were nine for another man. She never emails you; she doesn't even call. Why can't you understand? We wouldn't have to do this if you just listened…"

Bella spins around, her breath catching lightly. Jacob staggers back, clapping his hands to his mouth. The white dress has collected most of the blood from her shoulder. Her hair is threadbare, and the lackadaisical smile the Swans were used to morphed into a disturbed grin. She tilts her head, observing the glistening mist of tears forming in his eyes.

"His name was Edward…once upon a time, Renée loved an Edward, too." Bella laughs unexpectedly. "But he didn't love her. My Edward loves _me,_ as all the guys do. Even you do."

At this point, she is ambiguous of the fact that Jacob is going to break down before her or slam her headlong into the floor. However, she notices something in the threshold: Edward, placidly dressed, and keeping his wings to himself.

"Edward…" Bella reels. Jacob advances towards her, and Bella balks from him. When he gets too close, her left palm grips the pair of scissors, and she pulls her arm back into a clumsy arc. She accidentally swings her arm back too far and breaks the window, shards of glass biting into the skin. She lunges forward, but Jacob matches all her moves. He grabs her wrist, knocking the scissors out of her hand.

A scream is freed, shrill and reverberating. It strikes the walls of the abyss that swallows Bella whole. There's bright, beautiful red. Her arms and legs are gnawed by the serrated edge, and she is struggling in Jacob's arms again. Renée has disappeared; she is off in her fairytale with her own Edward. The three boys and angry girlfriends are back in Phoenix, and the obnoxious jokes are still uproarious. The camera _crashes_; the mirror _crashes. _Everything _crashes_ around her, and if Bella were to describe Edward's casual hums in the hallway as virtuous, she would've believed a lie so easily.

Eventually, everything stills. Bella cries against the linoleum bedroom floor. Two men approach her, dressed in white, and the visual strikes Bella as enlightening. "Are you angels, too?" She asks asininely, letting them grab onto her arms to hoist her up. Jacob and Charlie are watching from afar, standing by the door for safe measure.

Bella smiles, feeling something wet dribble down her cheeks. "Daddy…help me."

Charlie clasps his face, careening against the open door. Jacob is crying freely now, unable to look at her. However, Edward bobs his head, requesting her to come with him. He flashes his wings as he turns around, and they still shimmer with arrant composure. As Bella slouches along with the other angels, she sees her wings drag across the floor. No, they are not feathery or grand in any way. Instead, her wings are wires, each section connected by small bolts. She is unable to fly in that kind of structure, but the waylaying smile Edward gives her eases her qualms.

He will have to walk her home, this time.

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**A/N: This is probably the most difficult one-shot I had to write. Not b/c something in the story unsettled me, no, but b/c I had to make Bella Swan...*gasp* COMPLEX! Seriously, though, my best friend and I were bitching about how annoying she was and I randomly decided to write a one-shot delving into her mindset and proving the delusional glorification of this character to be completely false. I figured that she had erotomania (most fictional characters do), as well as some narcissism, but I wanted to make her a more sympathetic character. Hopefully, this turned out good :)**

**Well, I've officially dabbled into two popular book series in one day! I have posted the 3rd chapter to "Real", a Harry Potter fanfiction that is an alternate version of "My Immortal" that is rewritten into an actual story. So, be sure to check that out too, along with other updated stories!**

**Well, this concludes my 4th of July Fanfic Extravaganza (which was almost delayed b/c of security BS w/ my computer)! I hope you all have a great day and be sure to leave reviews, good and bad!**

**Enjoy the fireworks~**

**-Peace from the gun-troper**

**(P.S: Translation time! _P__asión cursi para dos _is Spanish for "campy passion for two".)**


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